Spaces Between Clouds
by baylop
Summary: It's the first summer Riley wishes would never end.


**Notes:** If it isn't clear, this takes place during the summer before their senior year. (No, really?) I have no idea why this took so long to write. But it's done now, and I guess that's what counts.

Oh, and, it's not really the place for this, but whatever. The lack of Ziley on my TV screen, and the upcoming _minimal_ amount of Ziley on my TV screen, is unfortunate. There's so much potential beyond the whole I'm gay!/I'm out!/I'm now going to break up with my boyfriend! saga that continues to be told. I wish Riley did things that didn't always relate to his sexuality, and I wish Zane would sometimes get his own plotline. -_-

Sorry. Enough of my ramblings—onward!

* * *

Watching the clock is an exercise in patience. Finals are over, grades are set, and the only thing keeping people in their seats is the absence of the final, blessed bell. The chatter that bounces around the confines of Mrs. Kwan's room is filled with the promise of summer. Vacations. Summer jobs. No school. Parties. Cookouts. No school. Swimming. Camp. Sleeping in.

No. _School_.

Anxiously, Riley taps his shoe against the tile, keeping time with the hand of the clock as it circles around and around. It's been two months since he's come out to Peter. A week since he's admitted it to Anya. Six days since he's kissed Zane.

So the wait to do it again is slowly driving him insane.

Peter looks him over in amusement, shifting in his chair, and nudges him in the ribs. "You up for some pool tonight?"

Riley glares at him, and Peter laughs, raising his hands in mock defeat. "Just joking. I know you've got your shiny new _boyfriend_ now, so I'm old news. Just try to show up to see me graduate, okay?"

Riley sighs, smiling a little. "You're not being replaced, just—"

"Upstaged?"

"—whatever. _No_. And," Riley leans in, lowering his voice as if Fitz will suddenly stop ogling Fiona long enough to hear them, "Zane isn't…we're not…together yet."

"Ah, taking it slow, are we? Being a gentleman?"

"Shut up. So of course I'm going to the ceremony. Gotta send you off in style."

Peter scoffs, lazily waving a hand. "Yeah. Send me off all the way to TU. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not going anywhere, dude."

"And that's what I'm counting on," Riley says, eyes returning to the clock. "Don't know what I'd do without you."

"Oh please," Peter sneers, rolling his eyes. But it's as nice of a compliment as he's ever gotten, and as the bell rings and Riley rushes out the door, Peter can't help but smile.

Dude's got it _bad_.

.

Riley's plan is to catch Zane coming out of Perino's class, and to that end, he pushes past swarms of cheering students, heart racing a little more with every step. They've texted back and forth for the past few days, crush-laden nonsense like _I can't sleep tonight_ and _Can't wait to see you_, and stolen glances across hallways and classrooms, but nothing more.

Not yet.

Riley makes it just in time, nearly running straight into Zane and a smile that's been dearly missed. But before he can open his mouth—or do anything, really—he feels a large hand clasping over his shoulder, and Owen's voice humming low in his ear.

"Hey! Just who I wanted to see. Come on. Movies."

Riley feels himself being pulled away, and doesn't dare make a scene because it's _Owen_. Owen, who thinks wearing pink is a serious crime against masculinity and the LGBT club should be "fucking put to bed". Apologetically, he looks to Zane, who shrugs almost knowingly and holds up his cell phone before heading off in the opposite direction.

The walk to the theater is brisk as they pass the people listening to the Stüdz's last performance in front of the school. Riley likes Owen well enough, likes him as long as he's not making homophobic cracks that he feels forced to laugh along with. They both love sports, welcoming competition and the satisfaction that comes with winning. With being _better_. Riley knows Owen has the tendency to compete with his fists, too—like Fitz—but he doesn't mind it as much as he feels he should. Unlike most, he knows about the hell that is Owen's home life, told to him grudgingly in scattered pieces like it had to be _earned_, and he gets that the dude has a lot of baggage. But Owen is fun, and seems to strike out with girls as much as he does, and…they just get each other. Simple as that.

"So, are you going to actually _make_ _it _to the football team this year?" Riley kids, eying movie posters apathetically.

Owen snorts. "A broken leg won't keep me down this time. Plus, I've got the whole freaking summer to train, since I'm being shipped off to my grandmother's place tomorrow. No internet. No TV. No nothing. It's gonna be _amazing_."

"Oh. Ouch."

"Yeah, tell me about it. And you? Gonna find a smokin' hot summer girl?"

Riley smiles a little slyly despite himself. "Maybe."

"Well, don't get too much action. You have to make QB so the team will stop sucking so bad."

Riley laughs. "Derek's gone. So the team's better already. But thanks for the support."

They buy tickets to some loud, no-brain blockbuster, and revel in its on-screen explosions and hokey dialogue. Owen slurps his Coke through two straws and then crunches the leftover ice, occasionally flicking popcorn at Riley when he dozes off. And all things considered, Riley actually has a good time.

But it's just as the credits are rolling that Riley gets a text, one that he waits until Owen is long gone to read, fingers twitching nervously.

_You ready for me yet?_

Grinning, Riley doesn't even have to think as he types a response.

_Meet me tonight. _

.

The next few weeks fly by all too soon, Riley thinks. Peter graduates, the Dot blows up, and his training begins; early morning, sun punishing workouts that he's actually excited to wake up to. Because it's summer, and summer means _Zane_.

When they're not running through the woods or hitting the gym (for football and soccer, respectively), Zane coaxes Riley out to try new things and just _explore_. So for every baseball game, there is a trip to the library, complete with quick, cliché kisses behind dusty bookshelves. For every lunch to-go, there is a dinner at some restaurant Riley's never heard of, where they talk in hushed tones and fleetingly brush fingertips under dim lighting. There are outdoor concerts and ventures to old movie houses, where Zane takes his hand and leads him to the very back, where they're free to trade observations about actors and plotlines without getting nasty stares.

They go to art museums, and Zane explains different works and artists while Riley snarks on some of the things considered "art", like a canvas painted solid green.

"It's about the texture and brushstrokes," Zane says, trying not to laugh at the unimpressed face Riley makes.

"_I_ could do that," Riley protests, shaking his head.

"Then paint something for me," Zane teases. "And I'll sketch something for you. Or just, you know…_sketch you_."

Turning red, it's around that time that Riley starts to consider him his boyfriend.

.

"So I have an older sister, but she's at university studying to be a doctor and doesn't come home much. So it's just me and my parents right now."

"I would've liked siblings," Zane admits, almost contritely, pulling up his feet from where he and Riley lie together. "It'd be a little less lonely, I think."

"But all the fighting and nagging…"

"It's still worth it, though, isn't it? Having someone who's there for you?"

Riley flings his hands above his head, knuckles brushing against scratchy grass. It's Sunday, and the park is pretty desolate so late in the day. "Yeah. So what do your parents do, exactly?"

"They run a business, a travel enterprise that…well it's kind of complicated, really."

"But it means they're gone a lot?"

"Mmm. About once a month, sometimes more. Anywhere from a few days to a week. So it's just me and the house. But it's not like I'm complaining or anything."

Zane rolls onto his side then, so he's facing him, and props up his head on his hand. Idly, he plucks a blade of grass from the ground, twirling it between his fingers before dragging it down Riley's neck.

Riley tries not to shudder, closing his eyes so he doesn't have to look at Zane, who is just as sweaty and tired as he is, and his mischievous smile. It terrifies him, at times, thinking about how easily Zane makes him come undone. "Do you…how new is this for you?"

The grass blade halts. "What do you mean?"

Riley sighs, cracking an eye open to meet Zane's puzzled expression. Maybe it wasn't the right time for _this_ conversation. "Back at the school mixer…you'd said that the gay thing was new for you, too, and—"

"—the 'gay thing'?"

"—being out, I guess," Riley corrects, feeling more embarrassed by the second. "I just wanted to know…I mean, you seem so _experienced_, and…"

Riley sighs again, but perks up a little when Zane begins to speak.

"Ah. Okay. So here's how it went: I came out in Grade 8. It was my choice—I'd known for a long time, and the timing just…it felt right. My parents were really cool with everything—I was lucky. And most of my friends took it well. Others didn't, and we just grew apart. Sometimes I'd get called names, or just, like, _stared at_, but I tried to not let it get to me. I uh, got better at that over time, you know? Staying calm, letting things roll past me, understanding that not everything was worth a _fight_. And after a while, things just fell into place. I got my first boyfriend at 15, and we dated all though Grade 10 and some of Grade 11. Until we broke up last winter, that is."

There's a slight fondness in Zane's tone that makes Riley open his eyes and look over. Then sun has nearly gone down, and the last bit of light isn't enough to read him. Not quite. "Was it serious?"

Zane shrugs, folding his arms and looking up at the sky. "Serious enough. We just weren't right for each other. I liked him a lot, I liked him so much, but I just couldn't…love him. Be _in love_ with him, like he hoped I would. And that was that."

Riley frowns. "So do I—"

"You've never met him," Zane insists, grinning. "He doesn't go to Degrassi."

"And 'he' would be…"

"Named Eric. Tall. Shaggy hair. Terrific soccer player."

"I'm good at soccer too," Riley mumbles, almost irritably. His eyes widen when he realizes he's said it aloud, even though Zane only chuckles, reaching for his hand and lacing their fingers together. It's an unusually warm night, and around them the crickets have taken up their nightly chirping, spurred only faster by the heat.

Riley bites his cheek, returning his gaze to the sky and its half-moon. "So…you've never been in love?"

"Not yet," Zane says, and Riley can hear the smile in his voice.

.

"Geez, when you said 'bring something to swim in', I didn't think you meant that you had your _own_ pool…"

"Yep," Zane says, peeling off his shirt and giving Riley a shameless view of the long, muscled lines of his back. "And it's the perfect season to use it."

Riley watches him jump in with a splash that sends drops of water straight for his ankles. Bemusedly, he thinks about how crazy it all is. He'd thought Peter's place was nice, but this...this was on a whole different level.

Zane's house is big and airy, with tall panel windows, high arches, and twisting staircases. Rooms painted in breezy colors. Furniture that doesn't look worn in. Walls tastefully decorated. And outside, the pool is large enough to train in, with the ground around it meticulously landscaped, full of flowers and trees and odd shrubs that all beg a second glance. Riley thinks of Zane being alone here, in this place, quiet with only the sound of his own breathing, and figures that his boyfriend could be worse off.

"Come on," Zane calls, furiously treading in place. Biting his lip, Riley can't help but notice how Zane's skin glistens as the water laps against it. How his mouth, turned up at the corners, looks so very red. Bitable, even.

Mechanically, Riley feels himself pulling his shirt over his head and sinking into cool blue liquid, sighing as it soothes his overheated skin. Zane swims over to him easily, touching his cheek almost shyly.

Like he hasn't had any kind of company in a long time.

"I thought we could do a different kind of workout today," Zane says. "Switch it up. Maybe turn it into a regular thing, you coming here."

Riley looks around. "I could definitely get used to this."

"Good," Zane says, kissing the tip of his slightly-sunburned nose. "So let's get started."

They do laps together until they're mutually bone tired, limbs dangling like jelly and fingers pruned. Gripping the edge of the wall to catch his breath, Riley's heart only beats faster when Zane wades over and grabs him, hooking his legs around his waist. It's as much contact as Riley's ever had with him, and he can't help but hold on tighter, fingers digging painfully into the stone ledge, as Zane hovers slightly above him.

"You did really good," Zane pants, still out-of-breath from exertion.

Riley tries to meet his eyes, and not the mouth that's merely an inch away from his own. "Yeah?"

Zane laughs. "Yeah."

Their lips press together, and they've done this much before—_really_—but as soon as Zane runs his tongue across Riley's bottom lip, Riley visibly stiffens, clamming up and nearly pulling away. Huffing in frustration, Zane grabs both sides of his face—kissing his forehead, his cheekbones, the edge of his mouth—with each touch of lips a little gentler than the one before it.

"Relax," Zane orders against his mouth, as if feeding him the command. And somehow, it seems different from when he remembers Nathan having said it, before falling to his knees in the woods, reaching for the waistband of his sweatpants. Zane's tone is softer, surer, and yet…bossier at the same time.

And Riley kind of likes it that way.

So with a shaky breath, Riley tries, parting his lips a little and hands sliding down to Zane's waist, gripping at slippery bare skin. He works at it, trying different angles and pressures as they occur to him in his head, and Zane is very, very patient with him, letting him set his own pace and play trial and error.

Finally, the embarrassment of inexperience fades when Zane whimpers into his mouth, wet and needy, his thighs tightening around Riley's hips and hands winding into his hair. And though he can't see it, Riley can feel Zane's satisfied smile against his own.

It's a wondrous thing, Riley decides, to kiss someone who _wants_ to kiss you back, who doesn't pull away in disgust like you're the worst thing ever. To go slow and _build_ and take your time, without fear of rejection or lack of desire. To give as much as you take.

And it's a bonus to do it _well_.

So later on, they go to buy groceries to fill the many empty shelves in Zane's ridiculously spacious kitchen. Still smelling of chlorine, Zane piles countless vegetables, meats, breads, and fruits into a cart that Riley dutifully pushes. And all the while, Riley grins stupidly, occasionally getting odd looks from the people passing by. But nothing changes his mood. Because he just spent over an hour making out with Zane in his pool, and then on a lounge chair, and they, sadly, _did not_.

.

Each day it gets easier to lie to his mother about what he does and who he sees. His father is practically a non-issue, what with his hectic work schedule. So all Riley has to worry about is his mom.

He says he's training. Hanging out with the guys. With Peter. With Anya. Having fun. And she buys it all, the truth and the lies, mixed together until everything is somewhat tinged with the other, a little tainted, a little pure.

Zane knows that he hides from his family. And he's overwhelmingly understanding—scarily so.

(Riley figures it's because he comes off a little jealous whenever Zane goes on about his _own_ parents.)

But no matter the reason, Zane doesn't insist on meeting them, doesn't pressure Riley to come out. He tolerates being pulled behind a tree when Riley's mother returns home unexpectedly, accepts making out against the house's brick wall instead of waltzing inside and boldly introducing himself to Riley's dad.

"I don't know why you put up with me," Riley says softly, walking next to Zane a block from his house. Wanting to hold his hand, but fearful that Mrs. Bailey from two houses over will see. With a sigh, he settles for shoving his hands in his pockets and kicking pebbles across the pavement.

"Uh, because I like you," Zane says, nudging into him playfully and flashing a now all-too-familiar smile.

And sometimes, Riley wonders how long that will be enough.

.

On occasion, when he and Zane go out, Anya tags along. And that's what Riley calls it—tagging along—because that's what Anya always insists it is.

"I'm no fun right now," she grumbles, as the three of them walk to eat dinner at an Indian place Zane's been dying to try.

"You're fine—really," Riley assures, while silently hoping that she doesn't go on another Sav/breakup/love sucks rant. Not that he really likes Sav much anyways, but he figures Anya's already used every negative word in her colorful vocabulary to describe him. Multiple times.

"I'm a drag, is what I am," she continues, folding her arms across her chest and shaking her head. Riley looks at her and smiles supportively. It's easier to understand what she's going through whenever he imagines what it'd be like if he didn't have Zane around. Because something painful always coils in his chest when he does.

"It's good to get out a little," Zane murmurs, draping an arm around her. "Especially after a bad split."

Anya raises an eyebrow. "Speaking from experience, are we?"

Zane laughs. "Not like you don't already know."

"Know what?" Riley asks, puzzled.

Zane and Anya share a look, and Zane shrugs, giving her his silent approval.

"Well, you know how you were crushing on Zane—pretty hopelessly, I might add," Anya starts, gesticulating wildly.

Riley immediately sours. "_Hopelessly_?"

"Yes," she continues, not hearing otherwise. "You never would've gotten past checking him out in yoga class if I hadn't gone asking things for you."

"Asking what _things_, exactly?" Riley questions, looking at Zane and not really sure that he wants to know the answer. Because Anya is capable of anything, really.

Zane grins, looking up at the stars. "Asking practically half the student body if I was gay, and then if I had a boyfriend, and _then_ if they thought I was a virgin. And to please give as much detail as possible."

Riley's eyes widen, completely mortified. "Anya, you didn't. God."

"Well, I just wanted to…cover all of the bases," she finishes lamely, pulling at her hair. "To make up for your…um…"

"…inexperience?" Riley mumbles, looking away.

Anya tilts her head. "Something like that."

They continue walking, but a minute later Anya falls back a little to whisper in Riley's ear. "By the way, he still is. A virgin, I mean."

Riley feels himself flush all the way up to his ears, and is grateful for the masking night.

"Well, more or less," Zane calls, not bothering to turn around.

Riley gives Anya a flustered look, and she just giggles into the crook of his neck as they follow Zane through the restaurant's doors.

.

"So what exactly is wrong with your bike?"

"Uh, the pedals and chain for starters…but I just figured I'd take it in to the shop…"

"Aw, c'mon Zane. Let me try to fix it."

Zane looks dubious, but off of Riley's pout, he manages an "Okay, okay. Guess it couldn't hurt" and is rewarded with a huge, goofy grin.

Riley grabs the necessary tools and settles himself on the floor of Zane's garage. With a nod, he gets to work, and Zane sort of shuffles around before opting to lean against the opposite wall.

Watching him, but giving him space to work, the only sounds the clinking of metal and focused breathing.

It's a little odd at first to have Zane eyeing him—Riley thinks it'd be terribly boring, actually—but Zane stays, propped like a statue until Riley nearly forgets he's there at all. And after a good fifteen minutes, Riley's satisfied with what he's done, looking back at Zane triumphantly. Zane pushes himself off the wall and bends down next to him, shaking his head disbelievingly.

"Thank you," he says, honestly, and it's such quiet gratitude in the lonely space of the garage.

Riley kisses him—once, sweetly—and revels in the way Zane's hands wander down to fist themselves in the fabric of his shirt. "Yeah. No problem."

Zane stands, biting his lip, and gets him a wet rag to wipe the grease off his hands with. "So just where are we riding to for lunch?"

"It's a surprise," Riley beams.

They bike past rows and rows of houses, and the so-common-it's-comforting stores and shops. Past the park they've run through so many times now. Past Degrassi—behind it—and towards the tree-line and trodden dirt road.

"Oh. _Now_ I know where we're going," Zane says, and Riley can only smile and pedal faster, silently challenging Zane to keep up. Which, of course, he does with a laugh.

When they reach the construction site, Riley stashes his bike behind a gnarled shrub, next to the NO TRESPASSING sign, and Zane does the same. Taking his hand a little diffidently, he leads Zane up familiar steps, and feels Zane let go of him at the top as he walks over to the center of the wooden floorboards. There, a sloppy picnic of Greek food is spread.

"You did all of this…_before_ you came to get me?" Zane asks, wondrously.

Nervously, Riley eyes him. "Well I didn't _cook_ any of it—my grandma did—I just set it up."

Zane goes over to look out the window—or rather, where a window will eventually be. Taking in the quaint view of the city, Riley sees as his fingers curl slightly over the edge before drumming against the frame. "This isn't your typical picnic."

"No," Riley agrees.

"But it's away from people we know," Zane mutters, repeating the conversation they'd had on their first, unofficial date. "Because it's less stuff to explain if—"

"—people see us," Riley finishes, hating himself a little and feeling like he hasn't made any progress at all, in this regard. Silently, he wishes that he could just banish all of his fears and not keep them locked up and constantly tumbling out of him like itchy, angry balls of yarn. "Zane, I…"

"I know," Zane says, pulling him over so they're face-to-face. Riley can't help but think, _No you don't, not all of it_, but he lets Zane continue. "And it's okay. But, uh, if we're going to eat here, what about that security guard?"

Riley brightens, thankful for the change of subject. "Don't worry, I already worked that out. If Mr. Rent-a-Cop comes back, I'll distract him and _you_ can be the one to get away. It's only fair."

"But I couldn't leave you," Zane says. He blushes a little when he realizes how it sounds.

"Then we'll get busted together," Riley settles, motioning for him to sit.

Riley guides him through the various dishes, from melitzanosalata ("This is a dip.") to avgolemono ("Soup, obviously.") to spanakopita ("Dude, you'll love this. Trust me."). It's a lot of fun, actually, to be the resident expert in something. Even more so because outside of the realm of sports, it doesn't happen often—especially around Zane. So by the time they get around to eating baklava, Riley is feeling happy enough—and his lips are loose enough—that the words just start babbling out.

"This isn't who I am at school," he begins, watching Zane shift his head in confusion, but pressing on. "I'm sort of a different person, on the field. Around the other guys—the team."

Zane gestures around to where they are, closed-off and high above the ground. Not cuddling in a park on a blanket like any _other_ couple. "I kind of figured as much, Riley."

Riley looks down and nods shakily. "Right. But it's like…it's like there are two of me. The one who has to prove himself, who scores touchdowns, and likes all the hot girls, and the one who—"

"—is real?"

"Yeah."

Zane scratches his head, and Riley, taking a breath to steady himself, chances looking up at him again. Zane looks pretty exasperated—and Riley gets it, really he does—because they keep on having the same conversations and opinions and reactions that continue to cycle endlessly.

And it sucks.

"I don't…necessarily approve," Zane murmurs, finally. "But it's your decision to want to hide away from people, to cover who you really are—and who you are is really _wonderful_, Riley. And I suppose it's my decision on whether I stay with you or not. But…"

Riley visibly slumps, because selfishly he'd forgotten that just as _he_ had choices, Zane did too. "But what?"

"I want to be with you," Zane says earnestly, leaning over the scattered empty dishes to cup his cheek. He brushes his thumb over the skin just under his eye, and Riley can't help but close them. "So we'll just have to deal with things as they come."

"Okay," he agrees, eyes still shut, because that's really all he can muster.

.

It's a Wednesday in late July, and they're sitting together on a park bench, legs dangling casually over the edge. The sun is at its highest point in the sky, and it's so very hot that Riley's secretly glad that Zane suggested they break for gelato.

Just as long as they don't make a habit out of it. Because the last thing Riley needs is anything going straight to his gut.

Finishing the last chocolaty spoonful, he notices that Zane is staring at him. "What? Do I have it all over my mouth?"

"No," Zane says, laughing slightly.

Riley scrunches his nose. "Then what?"

Brazenly, Zane reaches out a hand and hooks two fingers around a lock of his hair. "You're growing it out again?"

"Uh, maybe I guess. Why?"

Zane tugs on the strand. "It's just different. But I like it."

Riley feels Zane yanking more of his hair, which is now starting to fall over into his eyes, and pulling him closer. Their lips brush slowly, sticky sweet, and it's not long before Zane's hands are darting across his chest and then under his shirt.

"We…I still have…the workout…m'not done yet," Riley gasps in-between kisses. And still he roughly grabs at Zane's hips until he's got him practically sitting on his lap. Truthfully, they're very nearly grinding against each other before Zane finally tears himself away.

"Sorry," Zane apologizes, clearly frustrated. "Couldn't help it."

Riley shakes his head, willing his fingers to _be still_ and stay in his lap. "No, it's fine. You're just—"

"—a bit of a distraction?"

Riley leans in to kiss him again, tasting strawberry as their tongues slide together lazily. "Yes. But the very best kind."

.

A week later, Riley is standing in Zane's room and wondering why something seems _different_. It's a bit cluttered, as usual, with stacks of books creating miniature towers and sketches littered across every available surface, but something has changed. He just can't say what.

Absently, he wanders over to the window, taking in the garden below, its neatness and wildness, and the various flowers with names that escape him. The pool is sparkling. A blackbird swoops by, casting a traveling shadow over the patio as it squawks loudly.

And it's all so very nice that he doesn't realize how long he's been standing there.

"See something out there you like?"

Riley smiles ruefully, and can already picture Zane grinning, hands at his hips, before he turns around. "Maybe."

He walks over and tightens his arms around Zane's waist, swaying a little. And it's all so blessedly easy nowadays, to dig his fingers into hipbones and nuzzle into a neck that presents itself so unabashedly. Eventually, Zane turns his face to kiss him fully—quick, hard kisses that leave them both panting with foreheads pressed.

Riley watches as Zane steps back to take off his shirt, and something inside of him sort of blossoms, withers, and dies in the span of five seconds.

"Take this off," Zane murmurs, pulling on his navy tank, "and wait on my bed."

"Oh, well, aren't you being bossy…"

"Shut up. You know you love it."

Riley glares at him cheekily but complies, flopping onto the bed for effect. Instantly, he feels Zane's eyes on him, and it burns his cheeks, turning the room stuffy and a little unbearable. His heart seems to be crashing violently against his chest, and it takes all of his energy not to look away, especially as Zane clambers onto the bed, eyes almost amber in the odd light of the room. Zane smiles mock-innocently as he straddles him, cold hands roaming freely before settling just under his navel. Hesitating.

Their eyes meet studiously, and after a few, hovering moments the corners of Zane's mouth turn up carefully.

"If you want me to stop, just say the word, okay?"

Blinking hard, Riley tries to focus on things other than the rhythmic rise and fall of Zane's chest. "Kinda have to _start_ first, right?"

"Fine by me," Zane smirks, licking his lips before moving for the elastic of his shorts. A few seconds later, and Riley's trying not to pathetically arch off the bed, thighs trembling and eyes finding it hard to watch anything but Zane's mouth as it slides wetly over his cock. He tries to be quiet, but every other sound out of his mouth is something embarrassingly whiny and a little wrecked.

Shakily, his fingers move to scratch the hair at Zane's neck, the spiky strands sifting through his hands. Time becomes stretchable, and everything seems so overwhelmingly _warm_ as he shudders deliciously, toes curling into the mattress. And nosing at the sheets, soft and silver, it's then that Riley realizes just _what_ is different about Zane's room.

"Nice new sheets," he groans, especially when Zane hums around him in response.

The detergent is something sweet, a little sharp, and whatever the hell the scent is, Riley gasps into it repeatedly until he comes, Zane's hands ghosting over his belly. Zane continues to work him as he shudders, until Riley stops twitching and starts hissing, pulling him up into a clammy embrace. He takes a few moments to collect himself, index finger traveling to trace Zane's bottom lip, obscenely slick and smiling. When he finally feels up to it, he slides to the carpet, kneeling.

"Come here," he motions bonelessly, voice still raspy.

With a little shuffling, Zane stands, a hand running through Riley's hair with something far beyond fondness. "You don't have to."

"I _want_ to. It's not like this is a first for either of us."

Zane nods in agreement, thinking of Eric. Thinking of Nathan. "But it's _your_ first time being down there. Are you sure…"

Riley folds his arms. Leaning forward, he kisses somewhere just over Zane's ribcage. "Am I really _begging_ just so I can blow you?"

Zane laughs from where he stands, mouth redder than ever, and moves a hand to cradle Riley's neck. "No, sorry. I just don't want to pressure you."

"Don't worry," Riley grins, licking his way down and enjoying the way Zane sucks in a breath. "I'm a really fast learner."

.

By mid-August, his body is mapped with the subtle marks that come with Zane having been all over him. Alone in his room, he presses down on each one—breathing out through his mouth as he takes in their fuzzy sting—and it's like reliving the moments all over again.

Little scratches on his arm, from where Zane had tackled him next to a rosebush in his yard and pinned him to the grass.

A bruise over his knee, earned by falling off Zane's insanely expensive couch in the heat of the moment, and clipping the coffee table on the way down.

A hickey at the base of his neck, from fooling around at the theater and trying to keep his hips from snapping up as Zane groped him through his jeans, thumb tracing the inseam.

Needless to say, Riley likes the physical reminders. But it's the other marks, the ones he can't see but certainly _feels_, that really send him smiling into his pillow and careening off into silent slumber.

The invisible marks of the heart.

.

Riley finds photo booths to be hopelessly cheesy—not that he's ever been in one before—but when Zane takes his hand and beckons him in, eyes bright, he can't say no. So he smiles as best he can, pretending it's just Anya snapping photos until Zane looks at him like he does when they're tangled together on his bed.

Then Riley kind of forgets about imagining Anya there, as Zane touches the back of his neck and kisses him softly.

They try to beat the rain as best as they can heading out of the mall, but it catches them anyway. Taking refuge under the overhanging roof of an Italian restaurant, they watch the rain relentlessly pound into the earth, both dripping and soaked. Wordlessly, Riley leans on him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

Shoulders that are slight, but still more muscular than Nathan's or Peter's. Though not as built as Sam. And it's a little weird to make comparisons between his old crushes and the person who's both currently and literally in his arms, but Riley can't help it.

So listening to the storm, he thinks about Nathan, the first guy he ever liked. Sweet, but a little too caring for his own good. Someone he never felt completely comfortable with.

He thinks of Peter, someone he felt _too_ comfortable with, which led to an awkward kiss, an embarrassing rejection, and ultimately, eventually—a true friend. A first _real_ friend.

He thinks about Sam, who was too nice to him, plain and simple. The only person other than his parents to ever see him cry—in a bathroom, no less. Perhaps most importantly, Sam was a much needed wake-up call.

But Zane isn't any of them, and he certainly isn't the guy Degrassi sums up in a single word as "smiley". Riley knows better, because he knows the real Zane.

Real Zane is a bit moody, a little officious, forever an idealist. Okay with being alone, okay with being _on_ his own. Loyal to the last breath. Unbelievably creative. A freaking encyclopedia. A night owl.

Real Zane is a person like any other, Riley supposes, but _his_ person. His someone.

And that makes all the difference.

.

Peter asks him to help pack things up for his dormitory, and of course, Riley says yes. But it hits him suddenly, taping up boxes and marveling at all the _stuff_ Peter has, that it's been weeks since he's last seen him. And it's not like Peter's leaving the city or anything—he'll always be around, if Riley needs him—but that's just it. Riley _hasn't_ needed him.

"You're moving on," Riley says, a little wistfully.

Peter looks up from contemplating which of his lamps will look better in his dorm. "I know. It's great, isn't it? I'll be out of my mom's hair, and I've got jobs lined up above _and_ below the Dot. I'll be meeting new people—"

"—making new friends…"

Peter arches an eyebrow. "Dude, are you getting bummed about this? I thought Mr. Boyfriend was keeping you busy? Plus, Anya doesn't hate your guts anymore, and I'm still here. Mostly. So you've got like what, three friends now? That's _progress_."

Riley gives him a dirty look and punches his arm.

Peter winces a little, rubbing the spot and smirking thoughtfully. "So just how much training _have_ you done this summer?"

"Tons."

"All by yourself?" Peter teases, narrowing his eyes. "There's a bit too much improvement in your arm to say that…"

"What do _you_ think, Pete?"

"Well, I think Mr. Boyfriend—"

"—_Zane_—"

"—is a _very_ good workout partner," Peter drawls. "So just how are things with him?"

"Really, really great," Riley answers, unable to avoid smiling like a complete idiot.

"Oh, I'll bet. And are you still being a gentleman?"

"Peter…"

"Because that's not what Anya says…"

Riley rubs his temples wearily, hoping his cheeks aren't as red as they feel. "I'm going to kill her. Like, seriously kill her."

"Now, now," Peter tuts. "Then you'd be down to only _two_ people who can stand you. And you'd throw away all those anger management classes to boot. But seriously—you like Zane, right?"

"Of course," Riley says, finding the question stupid.

"But do you love him?"

Riley gapes at him, a little thrown. "We…he's never _loved_ anyone. He treats that kind of thing really seriously, and—"

"—I didn't ask about Zane. I asked about you man," Peter says, kicking his leg. "So do you love the guy or what?"

"I don't know," Riley answers, honestly. Because he's never been in love before.

Because he doesn't know how to _fit_ the way his stomach lurches into messy, thrilling knots whenever he's with Zane into a single emotion.

Peter smiles toothily, and idly Riley thinks about how much he previously wanted Peter to like him. To look at him like he did with Mia, tender and a little wicked.

And now, how much it no longer mattered. That they'd be friends, and nothing more.

"Well then how do you feel?" Peter worms, reaching for a marker to label something.

"Happy," Riley says instantly, because it's the truth.

.

When his mother says they'll be visiting family over the weekend, the cogs in Riley's head turn so fast that he already has a plan set before she even finishes speaking.

His mother and father will be gone overnight. The house will be empty. Zane can stay over.

_Finally_.

He just needs an excuse to stay home.

So when Saturday morning rolls around and they're nearly done packing things in the car, Riley comes down with a terrible, _terrible_ fever. His parents look him over in concern.

And thankfully, they buy it.

He watches them drive off from his bedroom window, trying to look pale and miserable. A minute later, and he's grinning while texting Zane.

_Come over tonight? For real?_

And when Riley opens the door and Zane's swinging a bag on his shoulder, he tries not to get _too_ excited. Or be _too_ optimistic. Because it's not like they'll finally go all the way tonight.

Not at all.

Zane studies his house with quiet curiosity, and Riley finds it hard to say much of anything, nerves getting the best of him. They wind up watching _Kill Bill_ on the sofa, and Zane cooks him dinner, smiling humbly as Riley mumbles that he wishes he was bad at _something_.

"I can't sing."

Riley shakes his head. "But you can dance."

"I can't…fix a bike," Zane says cheerfully. He still looks impressed, and it makes Riley blush and look down at his plate. Zane stands with a half-laugh, and kisses him lightly.

"Come on, let's wash these up. I'd like you to do something for me, if you're up to it."

After doing the dishes, they end up in his room, and Riley's fingers start to twitch in remembrance when Zane asks him to hop on the bed and be still.

"And do I need to take my shirt off too?" he teases, stretching his feet out and folding his arms behind his head.

Zane chuckles, pulling out a sketchbook and pencil set from his bag. "Only if you want to. But I sort of need to focus here."

Riley swallows when he sees the pad, because being drawn was clearly _not_ what he'd had in mind. In some ways, it makes him more nervous, the idea of Zane studying him and interpreting what he sees. But Riley just bites his lip and tries to relax.

Because Zane has been begging him for a sketch for _weeks_ now. So why not?

The minutes tick by, and soon the room is filled with the soft scraping of graphite against paper. Occasionally, Zane asks him to tilt his head or change his posture, but other than that he stays silent. Focused.

Riley tries to bring his mind elsewhere, so he doesn't dwell on how overwhelmingly trained Zane's eyes are on his body. Sometimes he catches Zane smiling a little, and curiously he wonders what it is that amuses him. His room is cozy, his bed is comfortable, and Zane is so very close. And after a while of this, Riley is struggling to keep his eyes open.

Everything is a little too perfect for consciousness.

.

Riley doesn't remember much from that night, except that at some point, cold hands were easing him under his sheets.

He also remembers the feel of the mattress as it dipped, the mouth that dropped kisses down his spine. The warm body that pressed up against him.

He remembers it being the most peaceful sleep he ever had. He remembers how disappointed he was when his mother finally did the laundry, and his bed stopped smelling distinctly of Zane.

What he _doesn't_ recall is Zane rubbing his cheek into the soft bend of his shoulder, and whispering three little words for the first time. It's not until months later, after all of the fear and the anger and the damn _drama_ has washed away, that Zane tells him about it.

And says it again, this time when Riley's actually awake and able to return the sentiment freely.

_I love you. _

.

It's the first week of September, and jogging through the park, Riley is starting to hate the calendar. School will be starting soon, and football tryouts will begin.

So he should be excited. He's dreamed of leading the team for so long now; he's _ready_.

And yet he can't help but wish it would be the first week of September forever. Because once school starts, he and Zane will…well.

He tries not to think about it. There's not a part of him that doesn't ache _thinking about it_.

Zane meets him in a clearing like always, and after stretching together, Riley goes into his usual set of push-ups. He smiles when Zane ambles over and ruffles his hair, but he groans when Zane sits squarely on his back.

"Keep going," Zane says, like he's trying not to laugh. "I know you can handle it."

Exhaling into the grass that brushes against his cheek, Riley pushes himself up, adjusting to the extra weight. His fingers dig into the soil, warmed by the sun, and he tries to ignore how his whole body feels like a live wire with Zane on top of him.

As Riley lowers himself back down, Zane shifts a little over him, and glides a hand between his shoulder blades to scratch there. Once, twice. _Teasing_.

"That's one," Zane counts, clearly enjoying things a little too much.

Even so, Riley grins as he pushes up again, and starts to count along in his head.

_Two_.

.

.


End file.
